


Mortified

by Katrine



Category: Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Suggestive Themes, drabble-ish, identity crisis, identity-porn, villains in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:17:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katrine/pseuds/Katrine
Summary: He's too perceptive. You're too open.  You are both in too deep.





	Mortified

You are standing next to the kitchen counter, getting pulled deeper and deeper into your own thoughts while your coffee is brewing. On the other side of the room a well-dressed man is standing with his back to you, studying a framed portrait with a politely amused expression. An expression you can see simply because his dark face is reflected partly on the dark window right next to him. Which you totally did not discover while checking out his well-fitted suit. That has very, very, **_very_ **, well-fitted pants. You feel distracted.

Fuck.

 

This is not your usual style. At all. Sure, Dr. Mortum is not the first person you’ve invited over to your apartment, but for some reason this doesn’t feel as... casual, as much like inconsequential fun as usual. You don’t know what to think about that, right now. Your nervousness feels almost physical, a heavy sense of turmoil deep in your guts. It’s something you don’t usually feel when you’re Eden. In this body, you not only look confident and seductive. You **_are_ **. Eden’s lithe, athletic form has been groomed to perfection and back, but that usual confidence feels far away right now.

 

This isn’t some stranger encroaching on your personal space, good for a couple hours of fun and then never to be seen again. You invited this man into your home. That suggests a level of trust you don’t normally let yourself feel around others. You can’t bring yourself to consider him as much of a threat anymore. Even if you know instinctively that Dr. Mortum is undeniably dangerous, it somehow just… doesn’t matter. There is a certain heaviness in your limbs, a certain dullness permeating your mind that has nothing to do with your lack of telepathic powers in this body. You just don’t want to keep your walls up anymore. You’re tired.

 

When the machine starts beeping the rich, dark smell of the coffee feels nearly overpowering. Somehow, it only makes you feel annoyed. You clench your fists, feeling your muscles bunching with tension. The victory of the day feels distant. Like it was not you who were responsible. Like it was not you who pummeled your former ally into the ground. Like it was not _you_ who hesitated. Like it wasn’t you who looked at Ortega’s beaten body and raised your fist and-

 

You grab for a cup on auto-pilot, willing your unwanted ( _not fears not fears not fears_ ) thoughts to disappear. Your grip on the cup tightens.

 

“Are you alright, mon chéri?” You startle at a charming voice. You fumble with the cup, which falls to the counter with the sharp note of ceramic against stone. A chip from the edge of it has broken of, followed by a noticeable crack down the side. You blink, and feel heat rush to your cheeks as you remember Dr. Mortum spoke to you. A flash of mortification, and you hastily try to collect yourself.

 

“Yes, I’m just fine,” you reply. It doesn’t sound quite right. Not even to you, but he has definitively managed to grab your attention again. You think, wildly, that you’d rather he grab some other places. He’s moved quite close to you, his normally impenetrable facade covered with concern. With emotion. For Eden. ( _For you_ )

 

“I don’t mean to suggest you would ever _lie_ to me, Eden,” the corner of his mouth curls with amusement, and your chest feels tight with… _something_ at how intimate your name sounds coming from his lips, coloured with his french affection. “But… you could have fooled me.”

He leans forward, and, ever so gently, let’s his hand brush against your pale cheeks. He lets his fingers slide down to you chin, and then tilts your head up. Your eyes meet. You are reminded that he is a lot more perceptive than you are, right now. “I- Of course I’m not ‘fine’. I’m working for a boss that doesn’t care for my safety- _that I can’t fucking leave_ -” you half-choke, half-swallow that last sentence in a sudden bout of hysteria. Your boss is you. And yet, there is truth in what you’re saying, as well as the venomous bitterness that threatens to fill your throat ( _Why does Eden feel more real more like me_ ). You can almost feel yourself start to sob, caught in a whirlwind of emotions too plentiful for you to process.

 

Dr. Mortum’s  right hand is stroking your back, and impossibly, it makes your panic recede. It doesn’t matter how uprooted you feel. Right now, you are Eden, and Eden is in the presence of a wonderfully smart and caring and oh so handsome man, who’s very presence is grounding you in a very real way. He sees only you, in this moment. And in his gaze you can see a mirror of the vulnerability you feel, like standing on the precipice of a bottomless hole and trusting someone else to catch you. And it is touching. Real. Dangerous. Attractive. Despite not possessing any telepathic abilities you become aware that he must see something similar in you.

The lingering heaviness in your gut is being rapidly pushed aside by a growing sense of something _urgent_. You become aware of all the little details of his body. You appreciate all of it. From his immaculately gelled hair, his concerned eyes, his plump lips, to the way he is just a bit taller than you,  and you realise suddenly that his front is flush up with yours. blood rushes to your face and you feel lightheaded, though if it’s due to the proximity of your positions or due to the shared heat of your bodies is hard to determine. Both his hands are on your body, and the sense of your brain grinding to a sudden halt when you place your hands on the high quality fabric of his suit. You wonder how that would feel to run your fingers over, around, and most importantly, _under_. You try to bring your lips together, but he gently places his hands on your shoulder and holds you at bay.

 

You make a sound of frustration at the separation, followed quickly by a hot flush of humiliation. Fuck, are you really that far gone?  “mon chéri,” he says in an amused voice. “I thought you said you wanted coffee.”

 

“Fuck coffee,” you say, and you barely manage to not sound shaky. You continue, this time infusing your voice with your usual confidence. “ I want you. In my bedroom. Unless,” you trail off with a sinking feeling, “you don’t want to-” He breaks you off, eyes narrowed with some emotion you can’t identify. Fuck. Having your telepathic abilities would be _very_ useful right now.

 

“Don’t assume what I want. This is not a rejection. I simply…” he pauses, “do not know if you’re in the right state of mind at the moment.” He looks at you, and you recognise the concern in his eyes as real. You feel a twinge of irritation on top of the lingering fire he’s stoked in your body ( _Eden’s body_ ). The leaden weight of your limbs has been replaced with something far more grounding, and you can’t, _won’t_ , deal with the stormcloud in your mind right now.

 

“Dr. Mortum,” you start, your voice effortlessly low and dripping with seductive intent. “I understand that the events of the day has left you in a somewhat nurturing mood, but,” you grab his tie and force him forward, “ I am not weak. I am _not_ to be coddled. And I do suspect that you don’t really want to do that right now, or what, ‘ _mon chér_ i’?” At your last words, you let your gaze drift downwards to his _very_ , well-fitted pants, that are doing absolutely nothing to hide his current state. He looks at you, lips drawn up in amusement, eyes hooded and dark.

 

“I would accuse you of deflecting, but I think we both know that would be redundant.” He bites his lip, still examining you with his dark gaze. At that, you feel a shiver running down your spine and you let go of his tie. You would be lying if you said that the electric feeling in your body was at all unpleasant. “I assume you have a bedroom tucked away somewhere?” He says, and you feel your face split into a grin, overcome by a pleasant fluttering in your chest.

 

“Of course.” You disentangle yourself, taking a few totally not wobbly steps towards the hallway. “Right this way, _Dr. Mortum_.”

 

Hopefully that coffee’s gonna go cold before you get back.

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of thanks and kisses to the discord chat,I would never have posted this without you (or gotten such a great pun for a title). I wrote some more of this that I might post if I ever clean it up and finish it.


End file.
